Savannah Haven left me exactly one year ago. After I threw a tantrum about our unwanted pregnancy. My security man just located her and the creep who stole my girl. They seem involved with the low life in San Diego's Gas Lamp Quarter. The picture he texted me showed a sickly, bloated looking version of my former love. I'm determined to rescue her and make us work again. The critical issue concerns whether she'll let that happen. Savannah's my reason for existing.
